Finding Sammy
by kelhome
Summary: Sam is taken, Dean's playing Moses, and why isn't anything simple?


_This job sucks._ Dean looked behind him at the 50 or so people he was leading away from another demon-virus town. He and Sam were getting better at recognizing the symptoms _before_ all the townspeople got infected. One or two who went after their neighbors, and they (or some other team of hunters) were riding in to evacuate before the blood-to-blood transfers could begin. Simple enough. Lives were being saved, demons were being thwarted. Should have felt good, right?

Except last night Sam had been taken by three _other _demons. And Dean had seen it happen, had started to chase, and then had fifty townspeople begging him not to go. "They'll come for all of us." "You said you were here to protect us!" "You said we just had to trust you and follow you, and we would be safe!" "What if they come after us?" When Dean had tried to tell one of the men to take over, everyone had fallen apart. He'd looked at these traumatized, freaked out people, and he'd had to choose. Go after Sam, or save the townspeople. God. It was like a bad movie. Sacrifice the one person who means anything to you, for the good of the many.

So, now, Sam was probably on hour 20 of being tortured, or worse, by three demons who wanted his head on a platter because he hadn't joined their hoard when Lucifer rose.

Dean felt like his skin didn't fit. He didn't want to be here, he wanted to be on Sam's trail. But, he stayed, he led them toward the bus rendezvous Bobby had set up. _Sorry, Sammy._ And wasn't that the gist of everything between them lately?_ Sorry. Sorry I broke the first seal because I made a deal with a demon to go off to hell. Sorry I sucked demon blood in my mis-guided attempt to get revenge for your death, even after you came back to life. Sorry, sorry, sorry. _ And now, Dean was walking through some dark patch of woods, like frickin' Moses, to lead these people to safety, and Sam was God-knew where, demons having at him.

And, there, through the trees he saw two Greyhound buses, idling. _Finally._ They would be driven to a 'holding' center, where they thought they would be monitored for signs of the 'virus' sweeping across the country. It was actually an old elementary school with cots that some hunters had warded against demon penetration in league with some in-the-know doctors from the CDC. He stopped walking, turned to wait for the little group to form up in front of him. "Okay, people, listen up."

******

Sam saw the lead guy going for the salt again. _Oh for Christ's sake…_ On his knees, in a basement of some house not too far from where Dean was emptying the demon-virus town, he was having a hell of time. The salt didn't do anything to Sam but choke him. It was just nasty. They had a rag stuffed in his mouth when they weren't using the salt, so Sam couldn't ask them what they wanted, or why he was here. Or tell them that salt was to repel evil spirits. It wouldn't do a damn thing to him. They'd put on gloves and tried the holy water first. That had been a bust, except for the near-drowning. He kept trying to spit out the gag, but it was wedged tight and full. So, exorcism was out. All in all, even though these three had nothing on the Three Stooges, Sam was well and truly stuck.

He knew he was being held until some higher up, someone _smart,_ could get here. So, he had some time, he just didn't know how much. Dean wasn't here, which probably meant that Dean wasn't coming at all. He wasn't so far away, after all. So, either the demons had cleverly covered their tracks, which, with these three seemed unlikely. Or Dean wasn't able to come. And that wasn't a happy thought any way he looked at it. As another canister of salt was poured down his throat, he tried to just keep most of it from going down. _Waterboarding's got nothing on this._

And then the little one, the demon possessing what looked to be a 16 year old girl, shook out the whip again.

_Here we go._ His shirt had been torn apart hours ago, and fallen away. For whatever reason, it made the slashes hurt more. Seriously, the shirt had given him no protection at all, but when it had finally fallen away completely, Sam had felt about 100 times more vulnerable to the strikes. The welts were small, but they burned like lines of fire. It was all merging into one big flaming mess. She wound up and let loose another strike.

And, finally, Sam caught a break. She sliced through the strap holding his wrists when she gave his back another slice. Sam felt the binding give and closed his mind to the rest. He was only going to get one chance and this was it. He waited until she raised her arm again, then surged to his feet. He spun to face her, head-butted her away from him. Turned again, kicked out at the lead guy, and started the exorcism as soon as he could clear his mouth enough to form words. The smoke started and Sam's spirits lifted for the first time in a while. He could still do this. He could fight his way out of evil.

He finished his choked whispering, spat on the floor a few times, and saw that two of the 'demons' were breathing and one had a red stain spreading on his chest. _Must have been shot while possessed._ Sam checked the breathing and pulse of the other two. They seemed solid enough. He didn't wait around. Just grabbed his jacket and weapons, and headed out of the house. Once running through the woods, he called 911 and told him about where he thought the house was. The dispatcher said there wouldn't be an ambulance for some time, as there were a lot of sick people needing help tonight. Sam tried to tell her that ambulances and hospitals weren't going to help those people. They were infected with a virus and it was only putting the drivers and paramedics in danger. But, of course, she thought he was wacked, and he hung up.

Sam got to a road, tried to figure out which way to go. In the end, he just guessed, and started walking.

******

After Dean got everybody situated he booked it back to the motel with one of the many abandoned cars that were scattered all over town. He was just going to stop at the motel, grab the laptop and the rest of the weapons, and go back to where the demons had grabbed Sam. There was an urgency in his chest to _get to Sam._ Dean was sort of relieved to feel it again. Because lately? Sam hadn't felt so much like family. More like, a co-worker, really. They fought together, still knew how to get a job done without having to explain who was going to do what, and when. But, their life as just brothers? It had felt a long way off. They had re-built a certain amount of trust, but it mainly had to do with the job. Dean never questioned whether Sam would have his back. He didn't doubt that, if he were in a jam, Sam would come running. But, he didn't think Sam expected the same from him.

Dean had noticed, in the last couple of months, how San watched him. If Dean was tired and cranky, Sam gave him space until Dean settled. If Dean seemed stressed, Sam suggested he go the bar he'd seen outside of town and blow off some steam. He never came with, and they didn't really discuss where their heads were at, or any of their _feelings _about what was going on.

And that was fine. That was good.

It was just, before all this demon shit, Sam _his brother_ would have teased him and cajoled him until he was out of whatever funk he was in. Sam, _his brother, _would have offered to drive, suggested a movie, found the best pie in the region and brought him three slices. Right now, they were efficient hunters, they were okay with each other, but that was it.

And, Dean couldn't have honestly told anyone whether he wanted that to change. There was a relief in keeping that distance. It was easier to not have Sam so lodged in his heart that every hurt to him was just as painful for Dean. Trying to look out for his kid brother had fallen by the wayside, and now Sam took care of himself. And, that was the way it should be, right? _Sam is 27 years old. He doesn't need me to stand between him and the world anymore._

Except, for the part where it was part of who Dean was. Fight evil. Watch out for Sammy. That was it. And, maybe if Dean had been doing that, the whole last year would have been different?

No. _No_. Dean was not going back down the road of 'what if I had done this instead?' He had told Sam to let it go, and he would have to do the same. Here's where they were. They just had to move forward and keep doing the job. Brothers had to grow up eventually, right? They couldn't be each other's mainstay forever.

Dean was just throwing the last of Sam's stuff into his duffle, when he heard the doorknob jiggle. He flattened himself against the wall, pulling his gun and aiming at the door before it even opened. When he recognized the tall silhouette of Sam, he relaxed his stance, tucking the gun away. "Sam? You okay?"

Sam glanced over at him, nodded tiredly. "The people get out okay?"

Dean could see Sam was in rough shape. There was some kind of white residue around his face and down his throat. He was shirtless under his jacket, and he looked waxy and pale. "Yeah. Sorry I couldn't come for you, I ---"

Sam walked toward the bathroom. "It's okay. I get it."

Dean felt hollowed out by that casual dismissal. Sam knew he wasn't going to come for him. He had escaped himself, not expecting Dean to help him.

Dean stepped toward Sam as he passed him. "Sam, I was coming, I was just packing up..."

Sam kept walking. "Dean, you don't have to explain. I know you had to take care of those people. I'm just going to…clean up a little."

Sam was already in the bathroom, about to shut the door, and Dean called out, "You want help?"

Sam's "I got it," was cut off when the door closed.

_Well, that's just great._

Sam was in there for a long time. The shower never came on, so Dean knew he must be hurt pretty badly. Sam loved his 20 minute showers. It was about the only way he got rid of stress these days. The water went off and on, Dean thought he heard a groan or two, but otherwise, it was quiet.

And Dean was suddenly struck by his own passivity. _Screw this. This is how we got in the whole Ruby mess in the first place._ Because he had let Sam push him out. Sam was one formidably independent bastard, and God knew, it was easier to just let him be. But, they had stayed out of each other's way to the point of this gaping gulf that now sat between them.

Dean got up and opened the bathroom door. Sam was twisting with his back to the mirror, trying to see where to put the antibiotic ointment. There were so many bloody welts on his back, Dean didn't know if they were going to have enough to cover them all. _Those bastards had whipped him_. And Dean welcomed the protective surge of fury that swelled in his chest. It made him feel more like himself. He kept his eyes calm, though, when Sam turned from his painful contortion to stare at him. "I'm almost done. Sorry."

Dean spoke softly. "Don't apologize, you moron. Let me do that." And he saw that Sam was going to protest. He was going to tell him not to worry about him.

"Go on to bed, Dean. I've got this."

_Jesus._ "Sam, don't be an ass, let me do it."

Sam held his gaze for a long moment, decided whether to fight him on it. And Dean remembered the jump through the church window to escape Alistair. He remembered Sam stitching up his arm, dousing it with alcohol, and then turning to help Dean with his dislocated shoulder. He hadn't expected Dean to help, and Dean hadn't really offered. Dean was not liking these little insights that were coming to him about the screwed up year they'd had. Because he was starting to see that his 'give Sammy space' plan had just helped Ruby in her grand plan to separate them and get Sam to kill Lilith.

So, yeah, giving Sammy his space was really not getting him anywhere good. He softened his voice even more, put his hand on Sam's shoulder and gently turned him around. Sam let him, and Dean felt a surge of relief. He almost thanked him.

"So, a whip, huh? That sucks." Dean reached over, grabbed a wash cloth and ran the water until it was warm. He soaked the wash cloth and then laid it gently as he could over the worst of the welts. Sam didn't even flinch. After a minute or so, Dean lifted it, soaked it again, and laid it on the other wounds. Sam was quiet, and it must have hurt like hell, but he actually seemed to be relaxing as Dean cleaned out the wounds. They didn't talk, but Dean felt like something was easing between them. This was familiar. Welcome. Him taking care of Sam, and Sam letting him.

When Dean had put ointment on the worst of the slices, he put his hand on the only unscathed spot on Sam's shoulder. "All done, Sammy."

Sam nodded. "Thanks, man." And then met Dean's gaze briefly before walking back into the room. Dean put the supplies away, turned off the light and entered the room to see Sam had already laid down on his side. He wasn't under the blankets, of course. Dean went over to the heater, kicked it up about 10 degrees. He went and sat on his bed, Sam was facing away from him. He heard a quiet, "You'll roast, Dean."

Dean smiled. "Yeah. Been there, done that."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "I can't believe you just said that."

Dean felt a little more tension leave him. _Hey, I can finally joke about hell. I guess it's a good sign._

"Get some sleep, Sam."

"Yeah. You, too."

Dean turned off the lights, laid on his bed. The room was starting to warm up already. Sam shifted around, trying to be quiet, Dean could tell. It must have hurt like a bitch, his back all torn up like that. Dean wondered what else they'd done to him. He knew it couldn't have been pretty. And how like Sam to not complain, to just try to lay down and go to sleep, to not disturb Dean. Couple of years ago, Sam would have whined, told Dean to get him some ice cream or something. Watched cartoons to distract himself from the pain, whined some more, just to let Dean tell him to stop being a little bitch.

That was then. This was now. The silent, take-any-suffering-without-complaint Sammy. Dean was getting sick of it, actually. He had a hard time being a big brother again because Sam wouldn't let him friggin' _be _a big brother. Dean sighed. "You want the t.v.?"

Sam stopped moving. "No. Sorry."

That snapped Dean's sorrow like a damn twig. It was easier to be pissed, anyway. "Why the hell are you sorry?"

Sam let out a long sigh. "Yeah. Well, let me count."

_Jesus. I will not let this go down that road._ "Forget that shit for a minute. Why don't you tell me what happened after those demons grabbed you."

It was a simple question. Report in on whatever just happened. But, simple, direct communication about something _personal_? Yeah, that had been in real short supply lately. Dean waited. This is where Sam usually said he was fine, just drop it, go to sleep, or some variation thereof. Dean was surprised to hear Sam let out another one of his weary laughs. "They kept trying to choke me with salt."

Dean had to smile at that. "Wow. Salt? That Torture of Humans textbook must suck."

Sam paused. "They weren't exactly thinking I was human, Dean."

_Huh. _"So, they were demons trying to repel your evil spirit? I guess they didn't get too far with that?"

"Well, the salt was a bust, the holy water was actually a little refreshing. But the whole whipping thing was a little uncomfortable." And then, because they were Winchesters, and they dealt with such crazy shit, that understated assessment of what must have been hours of pain and fear, struck them both as funny. Dean didn't let himself smile until he heard that tired laugh again, from Sam.

Dean settled deeper into his pillow. The room was comfortably warm. For once, the silence between them seemed easy. He looked at Sam's silhouette. "Ok. Worst pain you've ever been in?"

He thought Sam wasn't going to bite. It had been a long time since they'd played 'worst/best.' But then, Sam shifted, suppressed a groan. He must have been hurting enough to need the distraction. "You mean, like, physical pain?"

Dean nodded, looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah."

Sam considered. "Wow. There's so much material."

Dean snorted. "True."

Sam shifted again. Cleared his throat. "Had to be the witches with the voodoo dolls in Shreveport. Man, that was some white-hot stabbing pain that just wouldn't go away."

Dean remembered that hunt. Sam had been about 15. The witches had figured out that dad was on their trial. They'd doubled back and taken Sam, told his dad they would stick pins in his likeness until he backed off. Dad hadn't backed off, of course, but it had taken about a day to find them and waste them. Dean had never really asked Sam what they'd done to him. Sam had just said he was okay, now that they'd found him. There was a long pause, then, Sam asked, "Best meal you ever ate?"

And Dean really smiled, made a 'mmmm' noise in the back of his throat. "Well, that would have to be two answers. Best pie was Indiana. The diner outside Terre Haute? Every time I go through there, it never disappoints. And then, remember that steak house in Omaha? McKay's? We ended up there on my birthday a few times. That t-bone with the mushrooms and port wine reduction? Almost better than sex."

Sam snorted. "Did you just say 'port wine reduction?'"

"Well, that's what it is…Oh, man. I've got to stop thinking about it, or I'm going to load us in the car and drive there." Dean let the silence linger. Then, "Best memory of dad?" And, for the first time in forever, it didn't feel heavy, to ask about Dad. He waited to see how Sam would react.

Finally, Sam cleared his throat. "Remember the ghost that was haunting that warehouse in Georgia? It was, like, three in the morning, pouring rain. Dad was being all commando, and running with his shotgun at his side. He tried for the Van Damm leap, landed on that painted concrete platform at like 20 miles an hour? His foot hit and slid, and he did that whole Jerry Lewis arms thing to try to stop himself from slamming into the wall. He looked like such a spaz. I'd never seen anything like it, not from him. And I just knew I was gonna laugh. I couldn't even look at you, cause I knew I'd break. I tried to hold it in, and then he got up and slipped again, right down on his ass? And that was it. I pulled my sweatshirt up over my face to try to hide it, but, ruined that by just falling down laughing. I thought he was gonna tear me a new one. I glanced up at him, to see how mad he was that I was laughing at him, and he smiled at me. He got this sheepish look, like, 'what are you gonna do?' and just smiled. I think he even laughed a little. I don't know. Just, that look he gave me, it was so unlike him back then, and it made me see him, you know, as a person. So, yeah." He waited. "You?"

"What, best memory of Dad?" Dean thought a moment. "Okay. Along a similar theme, we were somewhere in the south, living in that trailer while dad looked for a raghead. He had come back from a night of searching, was all bent out of shape cause he hadn't found it, got on us for _everything._ The guns were dirty, the wards were sloppy, the trailer wasn't picked up. Bitch, bitch, bitch."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, those were some golden memories of dad, alright."

Dean went on. "And I was about 10, maybe? So, it was four o'clock in the morning, and we had to clean the guns, vacuum the trailer, all this shit, just because Dad couldn't find the raghead. And I took my knife, and on the window sill of our crap room, I carved, "Dad is an asshole."

Sam gasped. "You did not! Did he find it?"

Dean laughed. "Of course. The next day. He was putting laundry in our room, and I heard him actually read it aloud. 'Hmm. Dad is an asshole.'"

Sam turned his head over his shoulder. "You must have shit a brick."

Dean nodded. "Hell, yes, I did. And he came out of the room, found me sitting on the couch, with this 'oh shit,' look on my face. He took one look at me, and just started laughing."

"He laughed? About that?"

"I know, right? But he did. He just fell over, hysterical. Finally, he looked up at me, still with that twinkle in his eye, and he said, 'You're right.' I went, 'I am?' And he smiled. 'Damn straight. I had no call to take my frustration out on you two. Sorry about that, Dean.'"

Sam absorbed that. "Wow. That is a great memory."

Dean sighed. "Yeah." And Dean felt himself easing, remembering that they were a family, first. He and Sam had really come through fires together. There was no one else out there, not God, not the angels, not anyone, who would ever understand him like Sam would. He realized he was _not _willing to let all that go. He cleared his throat. "Best sex you ever had?"

Sam sighed one of his annoyed, prissy sighs. "Dean."

"Come on, Sammy, you must have had some sometime."

Sam was quiet and Dean thought the game was over. But, then, quietly. "Any time with Jess."

And that soft tone spiked through Dean. _Jessica. _He mostly forgot that Sam had had three years with her. Real love in his life. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Because there was never a wrong way, you know? It was always really, really great."

Dean wondered what that might be like. To have sex with real love attached. He'd loved Cassie, and the sex had been great, but he'd known it wasn't going to go anywhere. How could it? He –

Sam huffed out a laugh. "Except for one time…at the beach."

Dean turned toward him. "Do tell."

Sam said, "Let's just say, it's not romantic, _at all_, to do it on the beach."

"Because…?"

"Sand. Everywhere. And I mean _everywhere._ It's really awful. It's like putting abrasive, well, in all the worst places. And you can't get rid of it. It clings to everything, and if you try to brush it off, it just gets worse…"

Dean couldn't help it, he started laughing. "Go on…"

Sam turned his head toward the ceiling. "Then, we tried to rinse off in the water, and it was, like, 45 degrees. I couldn't feel, well, my feet were numb."

"Your _feet _were numb?"

"Yeah. My feet." And Sam laughed. "It just sucked in so many ways…"

Dean laughed, and it just felt so _normal._ He was still chuckling, when Sam asked. "How about the worst sex you ever had?"

And Dean had to think about that. "Hmm. Worst. Well, there's been some sketchy sex, I freely admit that. But, that waitress in Tampa had to be the worst."

Sam adjusted his position, let out a quiet gasp at the pull on his back. "You never did say _why_ it was so bad."

Dean still didn't want to go back there. Ugh. "Well, to start with, once we got down to it, and her jeans hit the floor, she had this…_odor._"

Sam let out a childish, "Eww…"

"Yeah. 'Ew' is right. And then, I couldn't see that well, but there appeared to be a rash…"

"Dean, gross."

"And then, when she opened her mouth to kiss me, she had one missing tooth, and one _brown _tooth. How do you have a brown tooth?"

Sam was laughing so hard, his bed was shaking. "I bet that rotten tooth didn't smell too great either."

Dean shuddered. "I persevered…But, I was never so relieved to always wear a condom as I was that night."

Sam was still laughing. Dean let it just wash over him. Finally, they settled. The quiet was nice, comfortable. Dean cleared his throat. "I really am sorry I couldn't come after you, Sam."

Sam sighed. "Yeah. I know. It's okay, Dean. I'm, ah, I'm proud of you when you make those kind of choices. I know how hard it is for you, but it's the right thing to do."

"Jesus, Sam. Don't tell me you're proud when I leave you in demon's hands."

And Sam actually pushed himself to sit up, and turn around until he was facing Dean. "Dean. We are at war. Everyone may not know that, but we know it. And, in war, the choices we make can't always be about us, personally. We have to think of the bigger picture, of the millions of people who don't even know they're counting on us." He shifted, laid back down, but this time, facing Dean. "And, I know you don't want to hear this, but, misguided as I was, that's what I was trying to do by killing Lillith. At least, that was what I was telling myself. I knew. I knew I was probably putting myself beyond the pale by working with Ruby, using the blood to get strong, but killing Lillith, which I thought was going to _stop_ the apocalypse, was worth anything that happened to me, personally. You know? It seems stupid now, with all the ruin that came about because of it. But, at the time…well, I thought there was a greater good. So, yeah, if you have to choose, choose humanity, okay? Because when _you _do it, it actually will help humanity."

Dean sighed, glanced over to where he could see Sam's outline. "Sam, I made the choice. But, I didn't like it. It made me feel like a horrible brother. Yeah, maybe I was a good leader. And, I'm happy those people made it to safety, but if the price had been…It's just a shitty position to be put in."

Sam seemed to be breathing easier, facing Dean. He didn't shift around as much, seemed more comfortable. "Yeah, I know. Maybe not as bad as having a waitress with a bad tooth and a rash looking at you adoringly..."

"Or sand in 'all the worst places,'…"

They both settled into their pillows. Sam yawned. "Just, I will never blame you – whatever the outcome – for choosing to help people. Okay?"

Dean closed his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

"Night, Dean."

"Night, Sammy."


End file.
